


Chasing Memories

by alana2x1



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alana2x1/pseuds/alana2x1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is kidnapped by the Alpha Pack; Deucalion wants to share some memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Memories

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic was pretty much inspired by [this gif](http://lonewolfed.tumblr.com/post/45703714916) of Dylan on the swing from The First Time. Um... it's kind of a couple of scenes that could (but almost certainly won't) fit into S3. 
> 
> Only a minor warning to mention: there are some short, snappy angsty flashbacks. 
> 
> Thank you so much to my last minute beta, ionsquare, who corrected some silly mistakes and eased my posting anxiety a lot! :) 
> 
> Other than that, I hope for my first AO3 published Teen Wolf fic it doesn't suck and people enjoy it.

The first thing Stiles felt when he woke up was the incessant hammering in his head. The second was the chafing pain at his wrists and the ache in his arms from being forced into an unnatural position without respite. He was feeling beyond groggy but he managed to piece together his memories fairly swiftly, wincing as he felt the sharp flash of pain again from when he was knocked out. 

The Alpha Pack had ambushed him outside the grocery store; well, two of them had. It was so clichéd it would have been annoying if Stiles wasn’t scared out of his freakin’ mind right now. The female one had literally kicked him upside the head with her bare foot. Stiles had barely seen her move before he felt the horrific pain in the back of his head before falling forward. 

“Hey he’s awake.” 

Stiles instinctively snapped his eyes open at the sound of the young male voice. He was greeted with the handsome face of one of the alpha twins; his face so close to Stiles’ he could see the darker crimson flecks inside the bright alpha red irises. 

“Back it up, Aiden. We don’t want to scare our guest to death.”

The young alpha grudgingly backed off, revealing the second speaker stood just behind him. Stiles couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath as he took in the alpha of the alphas. He had never set eyes on the pack’s leader before, but he instinctively knew it was him. Derek had said his name was Deucalion, which Stiles had consequently spent researching all night. The man stood in front of him did somehow look like he could have jumped straight out of Greek Mythology. Minus the tunics and sandals, that is.

“Hello, Stiles,” Deucalion greeted, strolling casually towards Stiles and crouching in front of him so they were staring directly at each other. 

Stiles took in the seemingly casual way the lead alpha was surveying him and was oddly reminded of Peter Hale; minus the psychotic undertones, but certainly no less dangerous. “What do you want with me?” He asked, his voice tight from the large lump of fear lodged in his throat. 

Deucalion continued staring silently at Stiles for a moment, successfully unnerving him further, before finally answering. “You’re Scott McCall’s best friend. Derek Hale’s...” he paused, as if searching for the right word. “Well whatever you and Derek are to each other.” Stiles stared incredulously back at him, really not getting it. Deucalion sighed, shifting slightly in his crouched position. “Basically, you are my perfect piggy in the middle.”

Stiles’ quick mind shifted into overdrive as he processed Deucalion’s words. “You... You want to turn them against each other, don’t you!” He spluttered out, eyes widening. 

“Ding ding! One point to the human,” Aiden said, earning a brief glare over the shoulder from Deucalion, before the lead alpha turned back to Stiles. 

“Do you know where you are, Stiles?” Deucalion asked, indifferently changing the subject.

Stiles blinked stupidly at the sudden, out of the blue question, before casting his eyes around his surroundings. He had to immediately quell the telltale surge of an oncoming panic attack as he realised he was at the playground and the thing he was tied to was the rusty old merry-go-round that he and Scott used to push each other round on so fast they nearly threw up afterwards. 

“I would say from your reaction that you are fairly well acquainted with this place,” Deucalion deduced, before standing up and moving to crouch down on the other side of the metal bar so he was crouched right next to Stiles. “A place like this must hold lots of memories for a lifelong Beacon Hills resident such as yourself,” he carried on, staring out at the street lamp lit playground as if carelessly reminiscing about old times. 

Stiles shifted slightly, trying unsuccessfully to edge away from the alpha. His wrists and ankles were tied securely to the metal bars and his backside was starting to go numb from sitting on the cool, hard, metal surface of the merry-go-round. A shiver went down his spine as he felt Deucalion lightly graze the back of his neck with blunt fingertips. 

“W-what are you-?” Stiles started to say, before blinding pain overtook him as the alpha’s blunt fingertips extended into razor sharp claws and sank deep into the soft tissue at the base of Stiles’ neck. 

_“Push me higher, mommy!” A very young Stiles crowed, clutching the chains either side of him with tiny hands. His mom laughed and complied with her young son’s request, sending the swing soaring forward and making the little boy believe he was flying like a bird through the sky._

_Stiles aged about nine or ten sat on the swing barely moving, toeing the dusty ground with the scuffed edge of his shoe. He stared absently at the slight dent he was making in the ground; his eyes red and his nose running. His dad approached after a while, laying a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder. “Let’s go see your mom.” Stiles reluctantly got up and trailed after the uniformed man._

_“It’s not fair!” Stiles shouted, kicking the metal post that held the swing set up. He was a few months older, and he was crying tears of rage and hurt and loss. He kicked and shouted and screamed until his dad appeared, walking through the darkening playground. He took hold of his broken son and hugged him tight to his chest. Stiles quieted as he felt the wet droplets of his father’s tears trickle down his neck and realised they were both hurting._

_Stiles wrapped his hands securely around the metal bar, setting his feet shoulder width apart for balance. “Push it really fast this time, Scott!” He said, giving his best friend an encouraging nod. Scott gripped a different metal bar on the merry-go-round and started heaving on it, gradually working up to a run before spinning away, gasping slightly. Stiles was twelve years old and he felt exhilarated as the world passed him by again and again in an adrenaline filled blur._

_“It’s five years today,” a teenaged Stiles said, sitting barely moving in the swing, worrying a new dent into the ground. Scott reached over from his swing to pat his best friend comfortingly on the arm. Stiles glanced across and gave the other boy a small smile. The two boys continued to barely swing side by side in companionable silence._

The memories flashed through Stiles’ mind at breakneck speed, each one building up a crescendo in his chest until his heart was beating so fast his vision started to white out. Then the claws imbedded in his neck were removed and his vision started to clear, and his heart rate decelerated. 

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I genuinely didn’t realise you had gone through so much here.”

Stiles’ ears were ringing, he was sweating and clammy all over and overall he was absolutely terrified, but the sincerity in Deucalion’s words snapped him back to reality faster than anything else could have done. “W-wha- the hell?” He just about spluttered out, his voice thick with the dregs of the weirdest panic attack he had ever suffered. 

“I was just trying to get to know you better,” Deucalion continued, still sounding weirdly apologetic. “The more I know about my middle man, the better.”

“I- I don’t- Why are you telling me?” Stiles said, still having trouble getting his thoughts together for coherent sentences. “I mean, if- if I know your plan, I can just tell Scott and Derek and bam! Your plan no longer works.” 

Deucalion looked at him almost pityingly, crouching down in front of Stiles again so their eyes were level. “I can tell you what I like because you won’t be remembering any of this,” he said, reaching forward and grabbing Stiles’ chin in an almost caressing gesture. “So shall we go again? Only this time, try and share some memories involving Scott and Derek, okay?” 

Stiles’ eyes widened as he realised the implications of Deucalion’s words, and he let out a strangled yelp as the alpha pulled his head forward by his chin and reached round with his other hand to sink claws into the back of Stiles’ neck once more. 

\-------

Stiles was woken up by the relentless ringing of his phone. He reached blindly for the phone with one hand, whilst bringing the other up to swipe wildly at his bleary eyes. As soon as his hand closed on it, he hit the answer button and brought it to his ear, managing a very inarticulate, “’lo?”

“Stiles!” His dad’s frantic voice instantly made Stiles more alert. “Where are you? I just got back from my shift and your bed hasn’t been slept in.”

“I uh-” Stiles stared incredulously at his steering wheel, realising that he was sat in his Jeep. “I’m in my Jeep?” It came out more of a question because he really had no idea how he got there. Last thing he remembered was leaving the grocery store. Also, what the hell? It was early morning? It had been about 9pm. 

“Stiles...” The Sheriff said with a sigh, clearly at a loss for words. 

Stiles scrubbed a hand through his hair, his mind whirring over all the hours he had lost. There was no way he had just gotten in his jeep and fallen asleep for the whole night. If it had been a couple of hours, fair enough, but not eight or so hours. 

“Stiles?” His dad prompted, his voice now tired rather than frantic. 

“Sorry, dad. I uh- I went to get some late night snacks. Must have fallen asleep,” Stiles said, knowing how lame it sounded but it was the best he could come up with on the spin. 

“Right,” the Sheriff said, using the disbelieving tone that Stiles was becoming all too familiar with at the moment. “Call or text me next time, okay? The last thing I need after a stressful night shift is to come home and not know the whereabouts of my teenage son.”

“Yeah, sorry, dad,” Stiles repeated, gripping the steering wheel tight with his free hand and feeling like utter crap. 

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” his dad said, before abruptly hanging up. 

Stiles dropped his phone on the passenger seat and let out a shuddering breath. Now that he wasn’t distracted by his dad, he felt the full force of how foggy his head felt. Like he had had a prolonged panic attack, followed by a day long migraine. There was also a searing pain in the back of his neck that was definitely drawing most of his attention. 

He brought a hand up and traced fingers over the nape of his neck. There were several raised bumps that hurt more when he touched them. He angled his rear-view mirror down and bent his head to the side. The angle wasn’t perfect but he managed to see the edges of three very angry looking cuts that had just about scabbed over. They looked just like the scratches he had seen on Jackson’s neck that time. 

A knock on the window had Stiles whipping his head round so fast he nearly concussed himself on the mirror. Standing on the other side of the glass was Derek, staring at Stiles with an expression that clearly said ‘what the hell are you doing?’. Stiles stared open-mouthed at the man for a moment, before winding the window down. “What the h-” Stiles started to say, but Derek had thrust a hand through the now open window and grabbed Stiles’ jaw, swiftly pulling his head forward and inspecting the back of his neck.

“Who did this to you?” Derek asked, his breath tickling the back of Stiles’ ear as he spoke. 

“I uh- don’t know,” Stiles answered, squirming slightly under Derek’s proximity to him. Derek backed off a little, giving Stiles a questioning look. “I’ve lost about eight hours,” Stiles explained, absently rubbing the back of his neck. “One minute I’m leaving the grocery store at like 9pm, the next I’m waking up in my jeep and its morning. And I swear to god I haven’t been drinking!” 

“Deucalion,” Derek growled, his eyes flashing red. “I can smell him all over you.”

“Oh. Oh god,” Stiles breathed out, visibly shuddering. “You mean I’ve spent hours in the company of the Alpha Pack and remember none of it? I think I’m gonna be sick. Oh god.” Stiles clutched the steering wheel with one hand, bringing the other one up to clasp over his mouth as a surge of nausea hit him. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, laying a hand on the teen’s shoulder, before repeating his name more loudly, “STILES!”

Stiles snapped his attention back to Derek, lowering his hand from his mouth but still feeling a little green. “They- what would they want with me? For eight hours!” He said, still gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were turning white. 

Derek withdrew his hand and looked at Stiles thoughtfully for a moment. “They were probably just after information about us,” he said in almost a blasé manner, though the red still bleeding into his eyes belied that. 

“Oh well that’s alright then,” Stiles said sarcastically, a hint of panic coming out with his words. “But there’s no sign that they tortured me for information or anything like that. Just these damned scratch marks in my neck.”

“That’s how we share memories,” Derek said impatiently. “And, apparently, steal them,” he added, a murderous look suddenly appearing on his face. He turned abruptly then and started walking away. 

“Hey! Where are you going?” Stiles called after him, alarmed at the sudden change in demeanour from Derek. He thought he heard the wolf say something about Peter and decided to just let it go. If it involved Derek’s crazy ‘should be dead’ uncle, he’d rather not know. He decided to go home and get straight on the research instead. See if Google had anything to say about memory stealing alpha werewolves.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, this is technically a stand alone, but I'm not ruling out adding to it. Just see how it goes. 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read. It means a lot.


End file.
